


Her Muse

by letd0wny0urhair



Category: Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - The 100 (TV) Fusion, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 04:09:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8606842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letd0wny0urhair/pseuds/letd0wny0urhair
Summary: Clarke Griffin is an artist.Okay, so maybe an amateur artist is a better description.But for Clarke, art is her life- and, though she doesn't frequently admit it, she's really good at it. She used art to cope with her father's disappearance, an escape from the world around her.Now that she's in college, Clarke is on her own (or so she thinks). She's got a new group of misfits, her Mother constantly checking up on her (despite her insistence NOT to call her) and a roommate she just can't get out of her head.Can Clarke pass the class? Will she be able to resist the temptation which comes with Lexa?





	

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall Semester, 2011

There was a girl in her room. Clarke looked at the (slightly faded) number on the door, then at the number on the sheet in her hand.

_Ark, 100._

She blinked. Definitely Ark, but maybe she'd misread something- she knew the place was big, but not  _this_ big. Maybe Clarke should see if her mom was still around before she tried to convince her to get back in the car and head home.

"I guess you're Griffin," The girl said, smirking, her hand extended out for her to shake.

"Clarke," she said, ignoring the urge to roll her eyes (Griffin?  _Really?)_. She ignored the girl's hand. (Her art supplies were much more important).

This wasn't right- it  _couldn't_ be right. She knew Ark had double rooms...But she was sure she'd asked for a single room, hadn't she?

The girl took the box out of her hands and set it on an empty bed. The other bed was made and covered clothes and photographs.

"Is that all your stuff?" she asked. "I'm done here. I think I'm going to get some food now; do you want to come? Have you been to Commanders yet? Burgers the size of your head." The girl looked at Clarke's head, smirked. Clarke swallowed.

"Hmm..maybe  _smaller,_ " the girl said, picking up a paintbrush that must've fell from one of the boxes. "Is that all you have, paint supplies? You've got to have other things. Are you coming?"

She was average height and slim and tan, and she looked like an almost mythical creature, dark hair braided tightly. Clarke looked down at the sheet one last time. Surely she had a single room?  


A girl stepped in the doorway next to her and glanced back. She had dark blonde hair with dark roots, and was carrying a bottle of vodka. The girl grabbed it, opened the cap and took a swig. "Griffin, Anya. Anya, Griffin." she said.

"Clarke." Clarke said.

Anya nodded and took a swig of the vodka. "I took this side," she said, gesturing to the messier bed. Lexa, with an eye roll, piped in "You can move her stuff if you really want, but she should, the messy bitch" She turned to Anya, who looked a little hurt by that comment. "Ready?"

Lexa turned to Clarke. "You coming?"

Clarke shook her head.

When the door shut behind them, she sat on her mattress and laid her head against the canvas with her dad's portrait on it.

For the first time in her life, Clarke wondered if she could do it.

If she could pass the class, if she could draw again. Like she used to.

Clarke  _could_ do it, just like she knew she could get up, give her mother a smile and head out with her to talk about something other than rare blood types and what the nurse in ICU did at the weekend.

They avoided Commanders (on Clarke's request) but, even then, they managed to spot people Clarke's age.

And of  _course_ this got her mom talking...

"Look at that boy over there, Clarke," She cooed, eyes moving to a boy at the bar. "You have my permission to talk to  _him_."

But Clarke wasn't interested in his dark curly hair, or his olive complexion. No, her eyes were focused on the girl dangling at his side- already drunk (at 5pm, must be a record).

Clarke rolled her eyes at her mom, as she launched into another of her (many.  _so many.)_ pep talks.

She could hear the words "You can do this." from the restaurant to the car and it felt like, when she got back, the words were plastered on her wall.

Speaking of walls, Clarke noted, these walls were  _thin._ Like "I-can-hear-you-fucking-" thin, that's how thin they were. (First timers, they sounded like.)

(Clarke didn't  _want_ to remember her first time)

Despite the sounds that seemed to be in high-def, Clarke appreciated the time she had to herself.

With that in mind, she reached for her sketchpad and her water colors.  _Time to draw._

Inspiration, they say, can come from everywhere. And, at this moment, Clarke had found her inspiration.

Her  _muse._

She started with the picture of Lexa on Anya's bed, their arms wrapped around each other and smiles plastered on their faces.

She sketched her every curve, every freckle, every inch of this girl.

And soon, she painted another picture of Lexa, and another and another.

Scared somebody would come in and see the pictures, she hid them. In her sock drawer, in her wardrobe, back in her suitcase.

When she was done, Clarke fell back against her sheets, trying to picture something else.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though it may say "Chapter 2" on this, think of it as Chapter One.
> 
> So...what did you think?

**Author's Note:**

> So this is Chapter One of Thirty Eight! 
> 
> Thirty-eight chapters is probably the most I've ever written in terms of any story. But, hopefully if I persevere, I'll keep with the novel as Rainbow Rowell with- same number of chapters, but completely different characters and stuff.
> 
> So...what did you think? Please let me know via comments or if you message me on my tumblr awholeneww0rld!
> 
> I look forward to hearing what you have to say!


End file.
